(or, If You Thought That Last Video Was Too Risque You Better Brace Yourself)
I wrote my first blog about sex back in August. I made the decision, with that post, not to be private or coy about my sexuality, my interest in sex, or the sexual content of my work. I made the decision to “come out” as a woman who likes sex.
I wrote my first blog about sex back in August. I made the decision, with that post, not to be private or coy about my sexuality, my interest in sex, or the sexual content of my work. I made the decision to “come out” as a woman who likes sex.
The reaction has been overwhelmingly positive. I got a bunch
of fan mail in response to that post (only a very small percentage of it
inappropriate or creepy). I got to have dinner with Dan Savage and Chris Ryan. I had women of all ages come up to me in person and thank me for writing about female
sexuality. I got hit on a lot more often at my shows, and more directly (which
is, of course, fine with me.)
Occasionally, I get a different reaction. A few people have told me that they’re “bored” of this topic, that I ought to write
about something else. A friend told me that I should show less cleavage in
my promotional pictures, or people might “get the wrong idea”. People have said that they “fear for my safety”, that I should probably “tone down the sex stuff”.
Well, I’m about to release an EP. It includes one song about
sex, one song about sex and murder, and one song about sex and bravery. That
last one is accompanied by a music video which features two burlesque dancers
in their underwear, two very tall men in suits, and yours truly, dancing
lasciviously and looking like I’m about to make some mischief. NPR just told me
they wouldn’t post it to their website because it’s “too risque”.
So, for clarification purposes, I’d like to tell you why I
won’t tone down the sex stuff.
Just Exactly What I
Stand For
It’s not my job to sing pretty songs. It’s not my job to be
cute, or to make people feel comfortable, or nice, or happy. My job, as I’ve
chosen to define it, is to live vibrantly, and tell everyone about it.
I stand for aliveness. I stand for joy and pleasure and inspiration.
I stand for human beings having a vibrant experience of their own lives. I stand
for sex and desire and passion and lust because those things make me, and most
other people, feel alive. For the same reason, I also stand for music, love,
honesty, silliness, poetry, bravery, chocolate, parades, and painting things pink.
I will stop writing about sex, and music and love and
honesty, when those things stop making people feel alive. So don’t hold your
breath.
“I Fear for Your
Safety”
Aliveness is inefficient, messy, and hard to control. It’s
difficult to monetize, difficult to quantify, difficult to compete at. Aliveness
does not increase GDP. What’s worse: everybody wants it more than money. In a
society like ours, aliveness is automatically threatening to the status quo.
Sexual pleasure, being one of the most potent bearers of
aliveness, is surrounded by a sort of gloppy, tarry, whiny puritan shame. That
shame is society’s way of protecting itself – think of it like porcupine
quills, or the fake blood that some lizards cry. Shame, and its attendant
propaganda, floats around in the ether and pours out of other people’s mouths
before they realize what they’re saying.
If you dedicate your life to aliveness, or anything that
inspires it; be it sex or music or humor or painting-things-pink; people will
tell you to get a job. They will ask you about your fallback plan. They will
say, “I could never do that”. They will tell you they fear for your safety. They
will tell you to show less cleavage and write about something else and focus
and get serious and grow up and tone it down.
In essence, they will tell you that there are better things
to do than run around feeling alive.
I’m here to tell you that there aren’t.
